


tumblr prompts

by Abigail (artyandabby)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Shadowhunters (TV), The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, Vampire Academy Series - Richelle Mead
Genre: Canon Divergence, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artyandabby/pseuds/Abigail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Tumblr-originating fic either too short or too random to get their own work. Chapters are marked with the pairing featured in each.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the taste of strawberries (lissa/rose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mild language.

“Who crawls through someone’s window at 4am to go for ice cream?!”  
“I do, silly.” Rose said, grinning her trademark grin: part ingratiating, part aggravating. “You know that.”

I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, trying to get them to focus. “I probably should have guessed. Is there a specific reason you want strawberry right now, and with me?”

“Fun?”

“This semester really did a number on you.”

“Damn right.” She grumbled. 

“And I’m proud of you for sticking with it.” I reminded her. It was true. I knew how easily bored Rose was, how much it bothered her to surrender and come back to school after dropping out, how much her probation grated on her nerves. And I was just glad to have her back. 

“Exactly.” She slipped off the sill and crept over to my bed, moving silkily. “So this could be a reward.” She seated herself on the edge of my bed, close enough that I could see her widening her dark eyes to beg me with them. “Please?”

Her voice softened and carried through the dark, sending chills running through me. I wasn’t getting back to sleep after that. Rose Hathaway could be a manipulative bitch when she wanted to be. 

I kicked off the covers. They landed on her head, and I heard her snickering. “Give me a second to get dressed.”

“No, no, you should totally go to Big Dipper in a t-shirt and my boxers. It’s a good look for you.” 

“You’re funny.”

“I’m serious!” She exclaimed. “Your butt looks amazing. You should really keep those.”

“Shhh.” Despite the scolding, I couldn’t stop giggles bubbling through my chest. “My parents might be relaxed compared to your mom, but not that much.”

“All right, okay.” I heard her flop down on my bed as I pulled on jeans. “I’ll be quiet.” She said, sotto voce. “As long as I get strawberry ice cream.”

“And strawberry kisses?” I couldn’t help saying.

“Yeah.” Her voice was soft again. 

I smiled to myself, pulling a loose tank top over my head. Summer was nearing, after all. Maybe Rose was just a bad influence on me, but suddenly going for ice cream at 4am sounded like a great idea. 

When I turned, she was on her feet like that, offering me a hand up to get out the window. I kept smiling. Maybe a bitch sometimes, but my bitch.


	2. superheroes (frank/percy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of past death.

“So, superheroes are next on the list.” I said, flopping down on the couch beside Frank.

His eyebrows shot up. “You have a list?”

I dug in my jeans pocket and handed him the scrap of notebook paper. “Have yourself a look.” I grinned. “Spider-Man is first.”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “This isn’t your handwriting.”

“You mean it’s not chicken scratches?” I shook my head. “My mom wrote it out. I just suggested things.”

“I think this is every even marginally popular superhero movie released since 1970.”

I cracked open a can of Coke, enjoying the hiss. “We’re catching Hazel up on nearly a century of pop culture. It’s kind of extensive.”

“You have Christopher Nolan on here.”

I shrugged. Truthfully, he wasn’t my favorite, but still. “Critically acclaimed. Therefore, pop-culturally important.” I glanced up. Frank was still frowning. “Not a fan of the Batman?”

“Not this one, at least.” His fingers tapped restlessly on the sofa cushion between us.

I grabbed his hand and anchored it to the couch. “Nervous?”

“Thinking.” Frank met my eyes. He looked oddly earnest, as usual. “Is Batman a hero to you?”

“I don’t know. I guess.” I gestured vaguely with the Coke can. “I mean, he’s kind of cranky. But I can relate.” I released his hand; he intertwined our fingers anyway. “What’s a hero to you?”

Frank pursed his lips. His expression was deeply thoughtful. Lately, he thought about every question I asked like it was the million dollar question on a game show. “I guess…Superman. Not him, specifically, but the ideals?”

“Truth, justice, and the American way?” I guessed.

He laughed. “Something like that. You know, duty, honor. Helping people.”

I smiled. Frank was one of the people in the world that made me glad the world had people. “Like your mom.”

For a second, I thought I’d overstepped my bounds. But Frank smiled at me, and my chest warmed again. “Yeah.”

I scooted closer, clutching my drink and hoping it wouldn’t spill on my mom’s new couch. He didn’t react much when I bumped his shoulder. “A lot like you.”

He looked surprised, like a puppy who’d gotten poked in the side. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I set down the Coke can so I could hold his other hand. His thumb automatically circled out over my wrist. I wondered if he could feel my heartbeat.

I looked him steady in the eyes. “You’re my hero, Frank.”

He blushed strawberry-red, and it was probably the cutest thing I’d seen all month.

Something made a loud snapping noise behind us.

Hazel was standing in the entrance to the living room, holding a camera and wearing a pleased smile. “Are you guys being sappy again?”

“What did we say about the Polaroids, Hazel?” I tried and failed to sound scolding. The shaky voice matching Frank’s blush might have had something to do with it.

“You said I was acclimating very well to modern culture through artistic expression.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t say it like that.” I muttered.

She put down the camera on the table and sat next to me, curling her legs under her. “If you’re going to have me watch five hours of Sam Raimi, you can let me take pictures of you. Besides,” She leaned forward and picked up the photograph the camera had spit out. “You look cute.”

I peered at the photo and my cheeks heated. From the angle Hazel had, you could mostly see Frank blushing and me leaning in to talk to him. It looked almost like we were kissing.

I passed it to Frank. “We do.”

He looked at me and said, utterly poker-faced, “We’re cute as heck.”

Hazel started giggling.

I handed Frank the first DVD, picked up my mom’s list, and crossed off _Batman Begins._


	3. special (willow/tara)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: N/A

“It’s always been you. Right from the moment I saw you.” Willow said, her voice soft as kitten’s fur. “Boom, magic.”

I sniffed. “I was there.” I managed a watery smile. “Definitely magic.”

“So?” Her voice reflected the racing, nervous tension coiled in my chest; sweet and sharp at the same time. “What do you say?”

I laughed around the lump in my throat. “Of course.”

Willow’s smile was like sunshine, like always. She didn’t bother with one knee, just slipped the cool metal band around my fourth finger. “It’s silver,” She explained, “’cause I heard that helps? It’s supposed to reflect negativity and stuff like that.”

Familiar territory; earth beneath my feet. “And it’s linked with femininity.” I offered. “Womanhood, the Goddess, all that.”

“Appropriate.”

“But we-” I stuttered over the words and stopped to breathe in. She squeezed my hand, waiting. “We don’t have that much luck with weddings around here, do we? Not that you and I couldn’t still-”

Willow was nodding already. “I get you. We have bad juju in the past.”

I giggled again. “Yeah. Bad juju.” 

“We could still try, though. I mean, we’ve gotten through bad stuff before, a lot of it. Mostly my fault, but we’re still strong. Right?” Her eyes were wide, and almost too hopeful. It made my chest hurt in the best way.

“Strong like an amazon.” I repeated, like I had so many times over the years. 

Willow wrapped her arms around me, and I tucked my head into the dip of her shoulder. It didn’t stay there long-then she was kissing me, and I could feel her smiling.


	4. we're slayers, girlfriends (faith/buffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: mild language, and mentions of death and kink.

“I will never apologize for saving your life, even if it costs me my own.”

“No offense, B, but I’d prefer you alive. I appreciate the offer all the same.”

I cast her a look(no reaction; she must have been used to it by now). “You know what I mean.”

Faith shook her head and settled beside me. “Yeah, I do. Life of the Slayer and all.”

“Death, death, and surprise! More death.” I sighed, slumping against the window of our stolen school bus. Appropriate for me, slayer of vamps and destroyer of higher education. “At least I don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

She tilted her head, sending spirals of messy dark hair into her face. She didn’t bother moving them. “Time was, you weren’t so happy about that.” 

“If memory serves, you shared that crankiness.” I met her eyes. There was a lot going on back there.

“Deep-seated insecurities.” Her smirk was tired and, if I did say so myself, a little half-assed. “You know the type.”

“Got ‘em.” 

“We all have.” Faith hesitated, eyes still on me, then said, “Buffy? I’m sorry about Spike.”

I stiffened. My fingers flexed on their own, shaking off the phantom burn. 

She sat up, pushing out one hand in the universal signal for give me a minute. “I’m not messing with you. We got on okay before the whole battle went down. He was a-well, maybe good guy is exaggerating a little, but hey. He who hath never killed brutally or whatever.”

“He was a good man.” I said severely. 

Faith sat back against the cracking seat. “I’m not about to argue with you.” She closed her eyes, apparently done with the conversation. 

The setting sun blazed through the windows, lighting everything up. It almost made the inside of a derelict bus beautiful. It certainly suited Faith, drawing out her features and dancing on her skin. If her eyes had been open, they would have been burning with dark colors.

I shook my head, sitting back. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh. Lately it felt like everything was a touchy subject.

Faith stirred, getting comfortable. Comfortable. Around me.

Maybe that was all she was trying to do. The old after-battle heart-to-heart. 

I could do that.

“He loved me, you know.” I said frankly. 

She cracked an eye open. “Yeah?”

“You saw back there.”

Faith sat up, addressing me with interest. “Did you…you know, return it?”

“I…” My tongue tripped, caught off guard by the bluntness and the pain surging in my chest. “Yes.”

I was right. Her eyes flashed in the fiery light, softening and sharpening with every flicker of illumination. It made it harder to figure out what was going on behind them. “Something like that’s hard to get over.”

“You have experience with that?” I couldn’t stop the brittle laugh that popped out. “I thought your paramours were mostly one-nighters. Or drummers.”

“Not all of them.”

My stomach twisted. She was holding my gaze, steady like I’d rarely seen her. She was changing, and I’d barely acknowledged it. “Not all?”

Faith laughed, almost genuine. “Come on. I’m a lot of things, B, but I’m not subtle.”

My heart was beating the kind of rhythm that got people kicked out of band. 

She lifted an eyebrow, Spock-like. “Seriously?” She leaned forward, close enough that I could smell my shampoo on her. She must have borrowed it. “You.”

“Oh.” It was all I could come up with around the sudden way my throat had dried up.

“God.” She snickered again. “You’re even slower than Willow. Like brick walls, everyone around here, I swear.”

That brought me back to earth. “You got with Willow?” I spluttered. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Aw, no, no.” She smirked, full-on this time, the kind that made me dizzy and confused inside. “I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about it, though. Especially after the whole college thing turned out to be a…life thing.”

“Do you have a…life thing?”

Faith shrugged. “I mean, maybe. I haven’t had a lot of time to think hard about it.”

“Oh.” I didn’t say anything else, considering. Of all the feelings I’d considered Faith might have for me, warm and fuzzy weren’t really up high on the list. And that was putting aside hot and heavy. 

“So did you ever?” 

“Huh?” She looked up from the spot outside she had fixed on while I thought.

The words came out forced. “Get over it.”

Her lips curled up. “Pending.”

“That’s…interesting.” was all I could come up with to say. 

Faith rolled her eyes. “You look like somebody hit you over the head. Is it so shocking?”

“Not shocking so much as…”

She nodded, urging me on.

“Mutual?” I said in a small voice.

I remember this moment, saved in my brain like a Polaroid, because it was one of the only times I’ve 100% shaken Faith up. I’ve never seen anyone look so happy to look like they’d been slapped. 

“I mean, it was.” I said, rushing. “When we were the Chosen Two and everything, and then you were kinda evil and then kinda comatose and I didn’t really know what to do and…” I trailed off. “Faith? Are you having a stroke?”

If you’ve never seen anyone in a dark lip and bonafide leather pants mouthing words like they’ve been robbed of every faculty in their pretty head, let me tell you-it’s a real crack-up. At least, it is when you’re not feeling vulnerable and flayed-alive, emotionally speaking. 

“Nah, no, I’m good.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Just-”

“Oh my God. You’re smiling.”

“Hey, I’m just glad to know you managed to move on and deal. Not everybody can do that.” But she was smiling, she was, and it lit up her face like the setting sun. 

Deal. Yeah. I totally dealt with it. Bye, bisexual feelings. A hundred percent.

“Okay, I think you’re having the stroke now.” Faith ducked closer, trying to look at me properly. “You did move on, right?”

“I mean, mostly.”

I looked up, and we were nose-to-nose. 

“You know,” I found myself saying. “I hear getting latent feelings out can help a lot in these kinds of things.” 

“Three years after the fact.” Faith murmured. “We’re doing this.”

The next part was burned into my memory, too, and it managed to be both blurry and clear as day. I can’t remember who closed the space between us, but I do remember the press of her mouth on mine made me feel about sixteen. I remember Faith’s fingers on my jaw, stroking my skin, then digging in and pulling me closer. Sharp and soft, like her. 

Gentle as it was, when her tongue slid over my lower lip, I pulled back. “Wait.”

“Hmm?” Faith had an unfocused look I’d never seen before. I managed to hide a giggle. If I’d known she would lose her cool so completely, I would have kissed her long ago. 

“I’m not ready. For this. For anything.” I gestured behind me, like she could see the gaping pit that had been Sunnydale through the front of the bus. “Not after-”

“After Spike. Yeah, I get you.” She licked her lips, looking down. “It’s cool.”

“Maybe someday.” I said quietly. A smile came over me. “Once my cookies are baked.”

Faith glanced up. “What the hell?”

I smothered another laugh. “Inside joke.”

“Is this a sex thing?”

“No!” I shook my head, trying to look disapproving around the giggle fit I was having. “Is everything a sex thing with you?”

“Hey, not everything.” She gave me a sidelong look. “Spike told me some other stuff. How your whole relationship got going.” She grinned. “Didn’t know you were so kinky.” 

I scoffed and hoped it covered the heat rising to my cheeks. “Please. Everybody has their quirks.”

“Oh yeah?” Faith leaned forward. “Tell me more, tell me more, huh?”

I pushed her back, still laughing. “Someday.” 

She rolled her eyes and settled against the seat. 

I’d be lying if I said my heart wasn’t fast for a while after that.


	5. pizza makes the world go round (clary/izzy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: N/A

"This is an apology pizza. Please take it or I will start crying right here."

The desperation in Clary’s voice only half-worked. Izzy’s doe-eyes were still brimming with tears, and the pizza was getting cold in her hands. And, due to her possibly supernatural restraint, she was one of the few women on the planet who looked beautiful when she cried. 

The whole thing was making Clary’s chest hurt.

About a week ago, relations with the Downworld had taken a significant turndown. They were already walking a tightrope after the whole freeing-Camille incident(her fault), but Isabelle, being the superhero that she was, had been working hard to repair it. Clary had tried to help. Then news had broken that they had lost the Cup, and then came the ensuing chaos, the threats, the blame(semi-deserved, okay, like- _three-quarters_ deserved, she admitted to herself), and the stress. Not exactly primo conditions for a new relationship. The whole week had been hell. Yesterday had been their first-ever fight, and Clary couldn’t even remember what it had been about. Something stupid, probably. The air was so thick with tension it was garroting them. Everybody was spoiling for a fight. 

Which led them here, with Izzy holding back tears and Clary holding back tears, and a fresh-made pepperoni-olive pizza, complete with crushed red pepper, still between them.

“Is that a mundane thing?” Izzy asked. “Pizza apologies?” Her voice held none of the condemnation the rest of the Lightwoods had given, and it made the knot in Clary’s stomach loosen just a little. 

“Nope. Just me and Simon.” She said, sniffing. She wasn’t so good at the queenly dignity thing when upset. There wasn’t a mirror handy, but she would have bet ten specialty lattes from Java Jones she looked like the thing from the black lagoon. Whatever. She just wanted Izzy to forgive her. 

“I did once try to apologize to Alec with soup.” Isabelle’s full lips pouted. “It didn’t go so well.”

Clary couldn’t not smile at that, and thank God, or the Angel, or whoever was up there, Izzy couldn’t not smile at her.

She took the box, opened it, and full-on grinned. Clary almost sighed out loud. She never thought she’d be so happy to see teeth. “How much extra did writing ‘I love you’ in pepperoni cost?”

Clary shrugged. “Not that much. I’m a regular.”

Isabelle set the pizza aside and patted the space next to her on the bed. The second Clary sat, Izzy pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry too.”

“Not your fault.” Clary said, muffled, into her shoulder. Izzy’s coconut shampoo was tickling her nose, but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make. 

But before she could wrap her arms around Izzy’s waist, she pulled back to look Clary in the eye. “Not all your either.”

“Three-quarters.”

Izzy laughed, and Clary realized she’d never wanted to draw a sound before. Isabelle’s laugh would have been gold and pink and red, all warmth and vivacity. Like an anatomically correct heart-terrifying in the right context, beautiful and full of life most of the time. “I’ll take that.” She squeezed Clary’s hand. “Come on. Let’s eat your pizza before it gets any colder.”

Clary sprawled backward on the bed, frankly willing to eat whatever Izzy wanted.


End file.
